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Fates and Furies
“Out on the porch’s sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly struck at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret must be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.”
—‘Bereft’ by Robert Frost
After B’Avi’s flag-draped coffin was sent out into space, Commander Zeeren Kelrec watched as the cadets—both Academy and War College—slowly left the room and walked down the hallway to a much larger chamber where there would be a funeral tea of sorts. He knew that because he’d helped organize it, even picked the light refreshments and beverages, but he couldn’t will his legs to move and join his fellow mourners.
He stood staring out into space, rigid with grief, thinking of all the lives they’d lost that day—the people he’d known and admired, and the countless others he now never would. His eyes were bone-dry, as was his throat, and a cup of tea would’ve been more than welcome but he still couldn’t force himself to take a step forward. His jaw was clenched tighter than usual, and it hurt like someone had punched him there.
Stay strong. Don’t let down those whom you’ve been chosen to lead. Hold it together, Kelrec. You’re strong, you answer to no one.
The words emerged like a swarm of Furies into his head, hissing and threatening to drown out all rational thought. Pounding his already-exhausted brain until he couldn’t take anymore.
He dropped his head into his hands, and began rubbing his temples in circles—small movements which finally roused him from his stillness.
The self-massage did little to dissipate the growing headache but to his surprise, he found himself walking toward the door.
He thought he was heading to the hall with refreshments, steeling himself to mingle among the cadets or perhaps go to Sick Bay to check on the injured, but again, he surprised himself by walking toward the door to a room he’d left just hours ago.
His feet moved as if of their own volition to her quarters. To Nahla Ake’s rooms.
He rang the bell and waited for a minute, then two. His fingers itched to keep them pressed on the buzzer until the doors opened but he was determined to take charge of his body again, and balled up his fists in determination instead.
Another minute passed and he decided this was a bad idea. She needed her space to grieve; the privacy of her den to mourn without spectators. He needed to leave.
Just as he was turning away, though, he heard a faint pinging as the doors opened behind him. He turned back, walked through, and squinted into the semi-darkness as they closed behind him.
It would be improper to order the lights turned up in someone else’s quarters so he forced himself to stay calm, ignored the wild beating of his panicked heart, and looked around more closely. Where could she be?
“How was it?” He heard a voice rasp from the darkest corner of the room, startling him and causing sweat to break out on his forehead.
“Nahla?” he ventured cautiously, walking toward the voice. “What are you doing in…”
“I should’ve been there,” his eyes detected a slight movement in the darkness. “Lights, 50%”. The room turned visibly brighter.
Then she moved into the light, and both of them flinched. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the brightness, and he, in turn, was shocked at how devastated she looked.
He’d always thought—sometimes grudgingly—that she was a woman who’d aged well, that she wore her 300-odd years lightly and with grace. The person standing in front of him now bore little resemblance to the sprightly pixie who sparred with him on a daily basis.
Her hair was messier and the light revealed glints of grey he’d never noticed before. Some of the strands fell over her forehead which bore angry red slash marks like she’d been pressing it against some harsh fabric. Her lips were chapped and swollen, the left corner bleeding a little as if she’d accidentally bitten herself. She was stooping, almost hunched over, and her wrinkled uniform hung loosely on her like she’d shed pounds in a day.
But it was her eyes that haunted Kelrec the most. The impish look in them that alternately captivated and irritated him had vanished, leaving behind a dullness that seemed to leach into the huge dark circles around them. He supposed he had bags around his eyes too, hell, nobody on campus had probably slept for two nights, but this went deeper than the exhaustion of the crisis. This was despair, a deep loss of hope that he couldn’t fathom.
“I should’ve been at the funeral,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “That’s the least I could’ve done for someone who sacrificed his life for one of my…our students”.
“Nahla,” he took a step toward her but quickly stepped back again when she made a startled gesture of fear, “it’s alright.
They…I…understand.”
“It’s just a formality,” he continued in a soft voice as she began pacing around the room with quick, agitated steps, hands pulling at the strands of her hair. “The real B’Avi, the person he was, will be remembered for centuries to come.”
“And so will our folly today,” she spat back at him over her shoulder, not ceasing her restless steps for a second. “We, no…I, will be remembered for the ages as the Chancellor of the Academy who caused the destruction of countless lives and a space station by enabling a madman!”
“Nahla, don’t,” he pleaded as she bit deeply into her lips and tugged savagely at her hair. “Don’t do this to yourself. You heard what Admiral Vance said…”
“I don’t need his forgiveness!” She spat back at him. “I don’t need forgiveness from any of you! I don’t care what you think! I know what I’m responsible for. I know what I did, what I chose to do. Not just today, but all those years ago. My choices then and now…the trauma loop…”
She came to an abrupt halt and bumped into the small table that held the tequila bottles that Nus Braka had demanded and gleefully enjoyed. She stopped and looked at them like she’d never seen them before, then reached out for one of them, hesitantly as if they’d come alive and attack her.
“Don’t you think…” Kelrec began, worried that alcohol would further exacerbate her low mood.
She raised her head and gave him the same look she’d given the alcohol a minute earlier, as if he was completely unknown to her. Kelrec felt a shudder travel down his spine as she stared at him.
Then in one swift, violent movement, she lifted the largest of the glass bottles and hurled it at the panel above the fireplace. It shattered with a deafening sound, and to his horror, she followed it up by throwing another bottle, then a third, and…
“Nahla, stop…” he grabbed at her arm holding the alcohol, ready to fling it at the wall. “Don’t do this…” he repeated his plea from earlier.
She looked at him, her eyes kindling with anger. “Why not? Am I out of line, Commander?”
“No,” he placed his hands gently on her shoulders and was relieved that she didn’t flinch at his touch now, “I didn’t come here to tell you how to grieve. But breaking glass isn’t the best way for you to cope right now.”
“Do you know the right way to grieve?” She bit off the words one by one, and his heart sank at the newfound bitterness in her tone.
“There’s no right way,” he spoke evenly and gently gestured with one of his hands for her to give him the bottle she still held in a clenched fist. “But there are…we can find…some ways that are less pointless than others.”
His words of comfort sounded hollow and pointless even to him. What in the world was he doing?
To his surprise and relief, though, she said nothing in return, and handed him the bottle. Then she moved past him and walked to a chair by the couch while he replaced the bottle with the others.
She sat there slumped again in abject despair, not even stirring as he moved around her quarters, finding the replicator and programming in the recipe he wanted. Nor did she lift her head when he brought over two cups of steaming tea over to the chair and handed her one of them.
“Made it without the right tools, Commander?” He could detect a not-altogether pleasant tone as she queried him, making no attempt to sip at the hot beverage.
“I don’t always need them, Chancellor,” he smiled as if to dial down the bitterness and formality of her address. “This is Ginger Chai. It’s a very old recipe for the most soothing beverage known to mankind and possibly to Lanthanites,” here he chuckled a little, “passed down from generation to generation in my family”.
“Heals everything, does it?” she murmured without a trace of sarcasm.
“I offer my guarantee as the Resident Tea Fetishist,” he smiled more widely at her.
She gaped at him in shock, her cup dangling dangerously from her fingers.
“What, you think my intelligence-gathering network didn’t inform me of the nickname you gave me?” his dimples appeared as he teased her.
“I…” she seemed at a loss for words, and he noticed a slight blush creeping up her pale cheeks.
“Thank you for that,” he leaned forward and squeezed her shoulder gently. “I also like the other names you and Commander Reno have bestowed on me.”
Her eyes locked with his and she permitted herself a small smile. He leaned in closer and nodded toward the cup, indicating she should drink it.
With a small shrug she did, and he watched as the hot liquid and the steam from it flushed her cheeks with more color. They continued this way in silence until she’d drained her cup.
“Thank you, Kel, I mean, Zeeren. That was really good,” she looked up at him as he rose and collected their cups to take to the replicator.
“Anytime, Nahla,” he replied walking toward the machine. “I’ve got some magic brews in my repertoire.”
“Can you bring back the dead?” the dull tone had returned to her voice again.
He glanced around and saw that she’d placed her head in her hands. He moved quickly toward her and placed a hand in the small of her back. From the jerky movements of her body, he could tell she was crying.
He helped her rise from the chair and led her to the spacious chaise, made her sit down with a soft push on her shoulders. She sank down into the plush material, and her sobbing grew louder.
He put his arms around her and drew her tightly to him. She buried her face in his neck and rubbed her hands up and down his back. They both sat there for what seemed like hours, opening their hearts and bodies to the sorrow, holding nothing back in their grief.
“Oh, Nahla,” he whispered into her hair, “It’ll be fine. It’ll get better. We will make it better.”
“You don’t understand,” she was sobbing so hard he could barely hear her. “He understands. He knows…Nus Braka…he…”
“Nus Braka knows nothing!” His chin came
up and he raised his voice a little. “He preys on people’s minds by pretending he knows who they are, and what they will do. In truth, he knows nothing of value. We…you are worth a hundred of him, Nahla! Never forget that!”
She lifted her head and gazed at him with her red eyes, hollow cheeks soaked with tears. His heart ached anew at how much damage that monster had caused in her life, in all their lives.
“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed, placing her head on his chest, a gesture that greatly warmed his heart. “It’s only that I can’t see it now.”
“You don’t need to,” he reassured her, shifting a little so that she could rest more comfortably and stroking her hair away from her face. “It’s a long, hard battle we have ahead of us. But we will face it…together.”
“Promise?” her voice sounded tired.
“I told you, I always keep my word,” he laughed a little, “even if it means moving on from flatulent, talking plants and fish that make funny noises, and bullhorns at the dining table, and…”
“Barefoot Chancellors,” she smiled up into his face.
“The most dangerous kind,” he gently stroked her neck while he smiled back at her.
She snuggled in closer, and he saw her cover her mouth to hide a huge yawn.
“You’re exhausted,” he began to loosen his grip around her, and tried to rise. “I should go. You need to get some sleep.”
“Please, Zeeren,” she murmured, tugging at his arm as he continued to get up. “Please stay.”
He hesitated, then sat back down again. As though by instinct, she immediately nestled back into the warmth of his arms.
Again, he felt something stirring deep in his heart, filling his mind and body with a strange warmth. Strength, perhaps. A shared hope. He gently pressed his lips into the top of her forehead, taking care to avoid the harsh marks on there.
“I’ll stay,” he told her, watching as her eyes closed completely.
Carefully he leaned forward to pull her legs up to drape over his feet, then reached for a throw in a corner. Draping it over her, he thought he heard her murmur something about tea in the morning, but he couldn’t tell her to repeat herself because she was sound asleep. He loosened his collar, kicked off his shoes, and leaned back deeply into the chaise for his own, much-needed rest.
THE END